


To Serve and Protect

by Aini_NuFire



Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [4]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Athos Angst, Dragon Riders, Friendship, Gen, Hurt Porthos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-18 22:35:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22034263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/pseuds/Aini_NuFire
Summary: Circumstances force Athos to return to his home in La Fère where he finds a neighboring baron has decided to use his absence as an excuse to terrorize the villagers.
Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564573
Comments: 19
Kudos: 69





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a combination of the two episodes that visit Pinion, so some dialogue is from those episodes; it's not mine.

The saccharine tang of the sea buffeted Aramis's face as he stood on the pier, watching the nobleman they'd just escorted from Paris board the ship to England. It had been a tedious mission, bringing the man to Calais after he'd been exiled for encouraging dissent against the Cardinal. He'd spent the entire journey railing against Richelieu for various things, none of which the musketeers necessarily disagreed with…but they had their orders from the King.

They waited for the ship to set sail, making sure the nobleman hadn't snuck back off, before they could finally call their mission complete and head back to Paris.

"Now he can talk someone else's ear off," d'Artagnan muttered.

"It's not like you had to ride wit' him alone," Porthos rejoined.

"No, but he was _loud_. I can't believe he didn't wear his voice out yelling above the wind."

It was true; Aramis had been grudgingly impressed with how much the nobleman could bluster, undaunted by being forced upon a dragon's back and by the sheer height of their flight. It was a good thing he hadn't ridden with Aramis on Rhaego—not that they _ever_ had anyone ride with Rhaego—for he was fairly certain his dragon would have lost patience within a few miles and done his best to buck the boisterous man off.

Although they all might have appreciated that.

They made their way to the outskirts of town where they'd left their dragons and mounted up for the return journey, d'Artagnan with Athos. They'd be back in Paris before nightfall, and Aramis was looking forward to a night in the arms of Adele Bessette.

Yet as they flew southeast, the sky ahead began to grow darker. Soon they had flown underneath the pewter canopy and horizontal raindrops began to pelt them. Aramis flipped up the hood of his altitude cloak to help shield his face. Hopefully they would push through this storm quickly.

But the sky only turned black the further they went and suddenly the heavens ruptured with a splintering of lightning and cracks of thunder all around them.

Aramis turned his head toward Athos flying parallel to him. "We need to land!"

Athos signaled that he knew, and Savron belted out a screech to Vrita who was flying ahead. The green dragon dipped her nose to begin her descent, but a streak of lightning suddenly forked down and struck her. With a shriek, she went plummeting in a corkscrew spiral.

"Porthos!" Aramis yelled.

Rhaego and Savron dove after them, but there was no way to stop their uncontrolled descent. Aramis could only watch in horror as Vrita frantically flapped her wings in an effort to correct her trajectory. She managed to right herself, but it wasn't enough to stop her from crashing to the ground, carving a long trough through the mud. Porthos went flying out of the saddle and hit the ground hard, his anchor line bringing him to an abrupt stop when it snapped taut.

Aramis was unclipping his rope before Rhaego had even landed and leaped from his saddle as soon as the ground was within reach. He sprinted toward Porthos, heart in his throat as desperate prayers spilled breathlessly from his lips.

_"Don't let him be dead. Don't let him be dead."_

Porthos was lying unmoving, his left arm sticking out at a sickening angle. Aramis skidded onto his knees next to him and heard the pained moans rumbling from his friend.

"Porthos!" Aramis swiftly checked him over for other injuries, running expert hands over limbs and the back of his head. Porthos would be covered in bruises, there was no doubt, but Aramis didn't find any blood or other broken bones, save for the one arm. They were lucky Vrita had crashed in an open field and not a bunch of trees.

"Is he alive?" d'Artagnan gushed worriedly as he hurried over.

"Yes, but he needs medical attention," Aramis replied urgently. "We need to find shelter so I can treat him."

Athos's expression was tight as he joined them, rain streaming down his face. "I know a place," he said stiffly.

Aramis nodded and untied his sash from his waist, then used it to make a temporary sling for Porthos's arm until he had a chance to properly set it. Porthos cried out as Aramis moved the limb.

"Get him up," Aramis said to Athos and d'Artagnan, then jumped to his feet and rushed over to check on Vrita. She was crouched low to the ground, panting heavily, wings folded down so Aramis at least knew it was unlikely any of those bones had suffered a break. He gave a quick circuit around her in search of other injuries, but though the crash landing had been harsh and painful, the only real wound was a burn furrowed down her left hindquarter. She shuffled away from him when he drew near it and he quickly moved around to her head with his palms up.

"Okay, girl, I know it hurts, but we have to get moving."

She growled in pain as she pushed herself up, straightening her legs. She walked with a limp but there was nothing to be done for it out in the middle of this storm. Aramis coaxed her along, following Athos as he led the way, Porthos supported between him and d'Artagnan.

They slogged through the rain and wind for about twenty minutes before a large house finally came into view. Athos guided them around the side to a barn big enough for the dragons to fit inside. He unlatched the door to open it and they all hastened in out of the deluge.

By now Porthos was more aware and he pulled away from d'Artagnan to lean against a post. "Vrita?" he grunted.

"I'll tend to her in a minute," Aramis said. "First I need to set that bone."

"I'd rather wait," he huffed.

"I'm sure you would." Aramis began to search the barn for something he could use as a splint. "Athos, give Porthos some of your wine."

"Should we make our presence known to the owners of the house?" d'Artagnan asked.

"There's no need," Athos replied as he went to Savron and fished the flask out of his bag. "No one lives here."

Well, that was convenient. Aramis picked up a board and considered it, then broke it over his knee for a better size. He made his way back over to Porthos and set the piece of wood aside.

"Unfortunately, we're going to need to get you out of your wet coat before I splint this."

Porthos knocked back a swig of wine and then braced himself as Aramis began to help pull his doublet off. Despite his care, the waterlogged leather made it difficult and Porthos still let out strangled cries as his injured limb was jostled. The shirt was only marginally easier with the wide sleeves. Porthos immediately started shivering, gooseflesh rippling across his arms.

Athos looked on while d'Artagnan busied himself with removing the dragons' saddles.

Aramis felt along the obvious break in the forearm, relieved it hadn't broken through skin or they would be in an entirely different situation. This, at least, he could fix.

"Breathe," he warned before gripping Porthos's arm above and below the break and pulling the bone straight. Porthos threw his head back and screamed and tried to jerk away, but Aramis gripped his elbow firmly. He applied the splint and wrapped it with a dry roll of linen Athos handed him from their saddlebags. He then used another strip to make a sling that wasn't soaked through.

"I'll get a fire going in the house," Athos said and abruptly left.

Aramis paused to exchange a curious look with d'Artagnan over Athos's odd behavior. The man usually didn't say much, but there was a stiltedness to his taciturnity since he'd brought them here. Aramis shook it off to mull over later; he still had work to do.

He made his way over to Vrita who had her neck craned around and was nosing at the burn.

"Leave it alone," he chided, stepping in close to get a better look. She tried to scoot away from him again but was already nearly backed up against the wall. "Easy," he crooned. "I need to see."

Vrita lowered her head but still watched him like a hawk. The burn was ugly, but not as deep as he had feared.

"D'Artagnan, can you bring that other roll of bandages?"

The young Gascon hurried to fetch them.

"She okay?" Porthos asked, voice gruff with pain.

"It's not that bad. She'll heal," Aramis replied, taking some fresh linen to pat the area dry before he could apply some salve. At least the rain had helped to wash it clean.

Vrita hissed in pain and bared her teeth in response.

"I'm sorry," he soothed. "I have to make sure it's clean before I apply the burn balm."

Savron shuffled over and snaked his head between Vrita and Aramis as a preemptive barrier in case he hit a tender spot again.

He finished drying the area and then took his tin of salve and applied some to the wound. Vrita grumbled throughout the process but didn't react poorly. Despite her reluctance, she was a better patient than her rider.

Aramis stepped away, finished. "Don't let her lick or prod the wound," he told Savron. Wrapping bandages around a dragon's bulk was arduous and a good way to deplete their supplies, so they'd have to leave it uncovered for now.

Aramis turned back to Porthos with a frown, the sound of the rain pattering the roof in droves.

"Shoulda waited to take my shirt off," Porthos grumbled, reading Aramis's mind.

"Here," d'Artagnan called, pulling out a tarp from the corner.

Aramis nodded in approval. "You two go ahead. I'll get the bags."

He was still drenched himself so there was no point darting out under the cover of the tarp, but Porthos's splinted arm definitely needed to be kept as dry as possible.

Aramis hauled two saddlebags over his shoulders, one each, and scooped up the third in his arms. Leaving the dragons to rest in their shelter, he ventured back out into the storm. The sky above continued to roil and crack with flashes of lightning and thunder, and Aramis darted across the yard to the house. Once inside the foyer, he set the bags down next to the discarded tarp and shook some of the water out of his eyes. There was a trail of puddles leading down the entryway and he followed it into a sitting room where a fire was blazing in the hearth and d'Artagnan was easing Porthos onto a settee.

Athos came in from another doorway bearing an armful of towels. Aramis took one and rubbed at his face and hair, which was continuing to drip water down the back of his collar. Not that he wasn't already soaked through. He peeled his sodden doublet off and draped it over the back of a chair, then went to help Porthos out of his trousers.

All four of them dressed down to their smallclothes, which relieved some of the weight of their waterlogged garments but only accentuated the chill.

"There are some blankets in the next room," Athos informed them.

"How did you know about this place?" Aramis asked.

Athos's expression was carefully devoid of emotion as usual as he replied, "I own it."

Everyone stilled at that bit of news.

"You were the Comte de la Fère?" Aramis said incredulously. While he hadn't been paying much attention to their location when they'd been forced to ground, he did recognize the family crest hanging on the wall of the foyer. "A son of the nobility?"

Athos's look remained bland as he turned and walked out of the room.

Aramis followed and found him raiding a closet for blankets. He moved in to help unload the cupboard.

"How many servants did it take to run this place?" he asked curiously.

"No more than twenty, including my valet and housekeeper," Athos answered with surprising honesty.

Aramis arched a brow. "Quite modest, then?" he quipped.

"Servants make me uncomfortable."

"Why did you leave?"

"I wanted nothing more to do with this life."

Arms full of towels, Athos again walked away from the conversation.

Aramis decided to let it go and followed him back into the sitting room where they laid out the blankets around the hearth for them to bundle up and get warm. Aramis helped Porthos move from the settee to the floor and draped two blankets over his shoulders.

He straightened as a thought occurred to him. "That barn was set up to house dragons," he said aloud.

"My family's owned one or two over the years," Athos replied.

"No wonder you climbed the ranks to dragon rider in less than a year after becoming a musketeer," Aramis commented.

Athos merely shrugged before climbing under a pile of blankets and turning away from them all.

Aramis rolled his eyes, but he was used to Athos being distant and tight-lipped about his past. One of the few things his friends even knew about was that he'd loved a woman and she'd died. Aramis wondered whether she had been part of this past life of their brother's.

It wasn't quite fully dark yet but they all needed to stay warm and rest to prevent catching cold. Aramis lay on his back listening to Porthos's pained grunts as the man tried to get comfortable with his broken arm. Eventually he settled and not long after his breathing evened out.

The fire crackled and the storm raged on outside, rain drumming against the windows and wind howling through the chimney. Aramis rolled over to finally go to sleep when he noticed d'Artagnan sitting up on his pile of blankets, one knee drawn up and an arm hooked around it. His back was tense and he kept staring at the fire.

"Are you all right?" Aramis asked quietly.

D'Artagnan startled. "What? I'm fine."

Aramis propped himself up on one elbow. "You should get some rest."

"Not tired."

"What's wrong?"

" _Nothing_." D'Artagnan flicked a nervous look at Athos and Porthos.

Aramis sat up all the way. "D'Artagnan."

A muscle in the boy's jaw ticked and he glanced at the window. "It's just…it was raining like this when my father died."

Aramis nodded in understanding. "And it's only been a few weeks since then."

D'Artagnan's throat bobbed. "When Porthos and Vrita fell out of the sky," he whispered. "I felt that terror again. And now I can't close my eyes without seeing my father dying in my arms. Not with the rain pouring down like this," he added with a bitter glare at the storm outside.

Aramis waited a moment before responding. "It will get better, with time. Eventually the rain will remind you of the event, but it won't make you relive it."

D'Artagnan shot him a half doubting, half hopeful look. "You know so?" he asked almost in challenge but mostly in search of confirmation.

Aramis nodded sagely. "From experience. In the meantime, why don't we fish out that deck of cards from Porthos's bag and hope they're not too soggy to play with."

"You don't have to…" d'Artagnan started.

But Aramis had already gotten to his feet and made his way over to the bags. He quietly fished out Porthos's cards, happy to see the leather satchel had protected them. He then went back over and sat on the floor across from d'Artagnan, reaching for one of the blankets to pull around his shoulders.

The boy gave him a grateful look as they settled in for a few friendly rounds while their companions slept.

.o.0.o.

Athos stood outside the closed doors of the sunroom. It had been Anne's favorite room in the whole house, the place she liked to spend her time, sitting on the settee as the warm rays of the sun bathed her in their soft glow.

The storm had passed and the morning had dawned clear and bright, meaning those rays were once again spilling into the space on the other side of this door. But there was no one there to bask in them. The room was now cold, just as everything else in this house.

Athos hated that he was standing here again. When he had left, he had intended to never return, yet circumstances had forced his hand, for his brother had been in dire need. But all the memories and pain that he'd gained a little bit of distance from were now crashing down on him tenfold as phantoms of the past played across his mind's eye. He could see it all so clearly—walking into this room and presenting Anne with a clipping of her favorite flower that bloomed in the meadow they frolicked in like lovestruck children. They had been so young and carefree then.

He turned away from the door and walked down the hall past another, one tainted with darker memories of his brother's body covered in blood and Anne standing over him with a knife. She'd claimed Thomas had tried to force himself on her, that she'd acted in self-defense, but Athos could not believe that of his brother. And then had come the news from the magistrate that Anne was not what she seemed; she was a criminal, a thief. She had seduced Athos to gain his wealth and title.

He had no choice but to let the magistrate take her away, and with her had gone all his hopes and dreams for the life they'd shared. He'd dismissed the household servants, sold the family dragon, and left without ever looking back.

Until now.

And it was eating at him.

He went back downstairs to the sitting room where the others were munching on a meager breakfast from their provisions.

"Is Porthos fit for travel?" he asked abruptly.

For the third time since arriving here, his friends all went still at his words.

"He can't fly by himself and it will be painful," Aramis answered. "Vrita's also injured."

"Porthos can ride with you."

Aramis shot him an incredulous look. "That's asking for disaster."

"Can you not get your dragon to behave, just _once_?" Athos snapped.

A stunned hush descended over the room and Athos bit back his frustration.

"My apologies," he forced out in a neutral tone. "I would just like to return to Paris as soon as possible."

"If Vrita's good to fly, I can make do ridin' her," Porthos said.

"Not alone," Aramis countered.

"I could ride with him," d'Artagnan offered. "But can Vrita handle the weight?"

Aramis huffed in consternation and ran a hand through his hair. "I'll check her wound, and if she's up for it, we can go, but we should make several stops along the way. And I should bandage it to protect from the wind shear. I don't suppose you'd object to liberating some sheets from a bedroom?" he asked Athos with a tad pointedness.

"Use whatever you need," he replied.

Then he pivoted to march out of the room, down the hall, and out the front door, needing to get out of that house before the memories suffocated him and the concern of his friends caused them to push where he didn't want them to.

He bypassed the barn and the company of the one friend who never pressed him for information, because Aramis would be out there soon enough, and headed out on foot in a random direction. He didn't realize his steps were taking him to the meadow until he pulled up short at its edge. The long grass was weighed down by last night's rains and the scenery lacked that certain _magical_ quality he'd remembered when graced by Anne's laugh and dancing smile.

Even so, the memories assaulted him yet again. He would find no peace from them anywhere near this place.

Athos had overheard Aramis and d'Artagnan talking the evening before, heard Aramis tell the boy that the tragic memories that haunted him would get less painful over time. Aramis would know; he'd survived tragedy of unspeakable magnitude. And while it was true, and Athos had attained some minor blunting of the pain during his time away in Paris, returning to the scene of such tragedies would only ever reignite the pain for any of them.

He knew Aramis would understand if Athos just told him. Porthos and d'Artagnan would too. But it wasn't something he wanted to confess to anyone, not even his closest brothers. The weight of his greatest pain and deepest shame was something for him to bear alone, and always would be.

He was about to head back when he heard the thundering of horses' hooves and movement near the edge of the meadow caught his attention. A peasant was running as though for his life, and behind him a group of four riders broke from the tree line, apparently giving chase. The men on horseback wore scarlet sashes either across the chest or wrapped around the head like a bandana, save for the fourth who wore what looked like a finer breastplate.

They caught up with the peasant, whom Athos now recognized as a villager from Pinon, and cut off his flight as they circled him with their horses. The leader not wearing the scarlet colors raised a multi-tail whip and began to beat the poor man, ignoring his cries for mercy.

Athos surged forward, unnoticed as he strode toward the riders and broke between them. He grabbed the young man with the whip and hauled him off his horse. "That's enough!"

"You dare lay a hand on me, peasant!" He raised his whip again, but Athos merely caught his wrist and torqued it.

On the ground, Remy the blacksmith stared up at Athos with wide eyes.

"I am a King's Musketeer. Now, what cause do you have to beat this man so?"

"I don't answer to you!" the boy spat. And he really was a boy, no more than d'Artagnan's age. "These are my lands to do as I wish."

Athos narrowed his eyes. "You are on La Fère lands and therefore trespassing."

"Unhand me!"

Movement in his peripheral vision alerted Athos that the other men had dismounted and were closing in. He released the boy and spun to thwart a punch. He delivered one to his attacker's jaw instead, but the other two converged on him and one of them struck him on the back of the head, pitching him into blackness.


	2. Chapter 2

Athos woke to the unpleasant sensation of hanging over a horse's rump and swaying with the animal's gait. Before he could think of pushing himself up and off—and perhaps taking a tumble—the beast drew to a stop and hands were grabbing at him, dragging him off the horse. He stumbled at getting his feet under him and blinked in confusion at the circle of huts surrounding them. In the middle of the village, peasants were crowded in a circle as men barged in and out of their homes, breaking things and coming back out with food that they stuffed into their own saddlebags.

Athos tried to shake off his captors, drawing the attention of the young man who'd been leading them. The boy grabbed a fistful of Athos's hair and wrenched his head back at a sharp angle.

"Edmond!" an imperious voice rang out. "What is going on here?"

Athos looked over to see Baron Renard striding toward them, and suddenly the family resemblance was obvious, along with the fact that both men wore fine cloth and leather befitting their status.

"Your son needs to learn some manners, Baron De Louviers," Athos said in his customary placid tone, despite the situation.

"You're the one who needs manners," the young man spat.

"Stop that!" Renard shouted. "And open your eyes, boy. Do you not recognize a man of noble bearing? This is the Comte de la Fère."

Edmond glanced between Athos and his father in befuddlement. The men who'd been gripping Athos's arms abruptly released him.

"Your man's behavior is a disgrace," Athos said loudly.

And, judging by what was happening in the village at the moment, so was the Baron's.

Renard drew his shoulders back. "Well, perhaps if you'd shown a little more interest in the last few years, I would not have had to intervene."

"You have no right to abuse your power."

"My right," Renard spat, "my dear Comte, is that of any concerned neighbor. Your estate has gone to rack and ruin; its people are thieves and parasites. I was only attempting to assert some order."

Athos scanned the huddled mass of cowed villagers, catching frightened yet hopeful looks directed his way, before returning his gaze to Renard. "I'm sure we can sort this out like honorable men."

Renard gave him a forced smile. "Nothing would please me more. Lead on."

Athos slowly turned, keeping his guard up. "Return to your homes," he instructed the people, then caught the eye of the innkeeper, Bertrand. "Might we make use of your establishment?"

Bertrand nodded jerkily, hastening toward the inn. Athos led the way and took a seat at the single table by the window. Renard sat across from him while his son stood in the doorway. Bertrand rushed to set some cups before them and his daughter Jeanne came over with a pitcher of wine. Athos held his hand over his cup. While he didn't usually turn down drink, he wanted this whole situation to be over with as quickly as possible.

Jeanne poured Renard a drink.

"You're very kind, my dear," the Baron said, then lashed out a hand to grab her wrist when she'd started to turn away. "And very pretty." Renard shifted his gaze to Athos. "Normally I find the peasant class as ugly as gargoyles." He laughed and raked his lascivious gaze up and down the young woman. "But every now and then one discovers a rose amongst the thorns."

"Shall we get to business?" Athos interrupted tersely. "I'm anxious to return to Paris."

Renard returned his attention to him. "What are your plans for the estate?"

"The estate is of no more concern for me. I have renounced my title."

Renard's brows shot upward. "One cannot renounce what is given by God," he spluttered.

"God had no part in this," Athos said darkly.

The Baron shook his head in disbelief. "I've never heard of such a thing. What about your position? Your responsibility to the social order? This land is a sacred trust. It is your birthright! Your family name!"

"I am not asking for your approval," Athos said flatly. "I am still the legal landowner. Now, I must have your undertaking that my tenants will be left in peace."

Renard leaned back in his seat, still looking flustered. "Perhaps you care more for such low people…now you are one of them yourself," he said with a touch of disgust. "However, I promise you they will be treated as they deserve."

Athos inclined his head.

Renard stood up and ushered his son out of the inn.

Jeanne stepped in front of Athos before he could follow. "You cannot leave. Baron Renard wants your land for himself; he's not going to give that up."

"He gave his word," Athos replied impatiently.

"We need the protection of our liege lord," Jeanne persisted. "The Comte de la Fère. You."

Athos fixed her with an uncaring look. "The Comte no longer exists. Now I've ensured you are to be left in peace, so leave me to mine."

He pushed his way past her and strode outside. Across the village square, Renard suddenly stopped and turned around.

"If you aren't the Comte anymore," he said loudly. "You're the same as them." He gestured to the villagers watching from their doorways. "So…you must kneel in the presence of your betters," he finished haughtily.

Athos paused, eyes narrowing. "You gave me your word."

"I don't negotiate with peasants," the man snapped. "I said kneel!"

Several of the Baron's men surged forward to attack. Athos went to draw his sword but was struck from behind before he could. He crashed to his knees, and a second blow sent him face down in the dirt.

"No!" Bertrand cried.

"The Comte de la Fère is no more," Renard declared. "This man is a vagrant and an imposter." He paused as Athos was hauled upright and divested of his weapons.

Athos struggled as his coat was tugged off next and his hands bound with rope in front of him.

"The punishment for such a crime," Renard went on with a predatory glint, "must be exemplary."

.o.0.o.

Aramis gently pressed a hand to Vrita's flank to calm her as he inspected her wound. It wasn't festering, which was good, but she was in a sour mood, rumbling low in her throat with him standing so close even though he'd promised not to touch it.

"Would you be up to flying Porthos and d'Artagnan back to Paris?" he asked.

That rumble turned to a scowl and she abruptly scooted away from him, turning around and plopping down in what he took as a resounding "no."

Aramis sighed; Athos wasn't going to like that answer. It was obvious the former Comte didn't want to be here, but it wasn't like they were choosing to lounge about lazily at his expense. Perhaps Athos and Savron could go on ahead to Paris and report their difficulty to Treville and the rest of them could follow when ready. Though, that was a rather cowardly out, and Athos might not appreciate the suggestion. Aramis would just have to phrase it in a way that allowed him to save face.

He exited the barn, wondering if he should try to find his wayward friend or give him some space, but was distracted by a figure limping down the road toward the house. The man spotted him and veered his way.

"Please, you must help," he gasped.

"D'Artagnan!" Aramis shouted and hurried to meet the peasant, catching him just as he pitched forward. The man let out a cry as Aramis touched his shoulder, so he quickly changed his grip. He noticed flecks of blood seeping through the dirty shirt.

D'Artagnan quickly emerged from the house and jogged toward them, Porthos shuffling out more slowly behind him and leaning against the door jamb.

"You are the Comte's men?" the peasant gushed, clinging to Aramis's sleeve.

"We are King's Musketeers. What happened?"

D'Artagnan reached them and wordlessly helped guide the injured man over to the stoop and eased him down on the top step. Aramis picked at the collar of his shirt to get a look at his wounds. They were lash marks, not particularly deep. They looked as though they'd been delivered over the cushion of the shirt, so not much of the skin was broken, but the welts were red and raised.

"D'Artagnan, my med kit," Aramis said.

The young Gascon sprinted back into the house and Aramis used his absence to get the peasant's shirt off. D'Artagnan returned a few moments later with the kit and a bottle of wine. Aramis nodded in thanks at his foresight and tore off a patch of linen from the bandage roll to soak with the alcohol in order to clean the wounds.

"Who did this?" he asked.

The man sucked air through his teeth sharply as the alcohol touched an open cut. "Baron Renard and his men. They have been terrorizing the village in the Comte's absence." He looked up then, eyes alight. "But today I saw my lord had returned. The Comte stepped in and stopped the Baron's son from killing me, but then they struck him and took him away. I came here hoping to find help."

Aramis shared an alarmed look with d'Artagnan and Porthos.

"Where did they take him?" d'Artagnan asked urgently.

The villager shook his head. "I don't know, but Baron Renard came to Pinon this morning to pillage what little food we have. His son would have run back to him."

"Then we'd better hurry," Aramis said, straightening. The villager's wounds were not serious and didn't require further tending at this moment. "D'Artagnan, think you can ride Savron?"

The boy blinked at him, taken aback for a split second, but quickly nodded. "Yes."

"'M comin' too," Porthos grunted, making a move to follow.

"You are staying here," Aramis replied sharply, but then softened his tone. "I'm sorry, my friend, but you cannot come this time."

Porthos's jaw ticked in displeasure, but he was still cradling his broken arm despite its sling and there was no way he would be able to fly let alone fight if needed.

Aramis and d'Artagnan hurried to the barn where they saddled up Rhaego and Savron. The silverback arched a curious look at the young Gascon as he made to mount on his own, but a quick word that Athos was in trouble had the dragon straightening at attention.

They shuffled from the barn and immediately took to the skies. It was easy to spot the village from above and they veered that direction. As they began to swoop low toward the buildings, Aramis caught sight of Athos strung up by his wrists and hanging as a man advanced with a short whip. One of the villagers ran forward as though to stop this and was shoved to the ground.

Savron let out a roar and the men in scarlet colors immediately began to scatter, mounting up on their horses and fleeing. The dragons landed in the middle of the village and Aramis leaped from his saddle to rush to Athos. He grabbed the end of the rope tied off to the side and tried to loosen it gradually so Athos didn't simply crash to the ground. One of the villagers rushed over to help and together they managed it. Athos still stumbled in an effort to catch himself. D'Artagnan hurried over, drawing his dagger and cutting Athos's wrists free.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine," Athos said gruffly, rolling out the crick in his shoulders.

Another villager brought over his coat and weapons belt, which Athos snatched out of the man's arms.

"Let's get out of here."

"You can't!" a young woman exclaimed. "You must stay and defend your lands. Renard will not stop. He burns our crops and poisons what's left. If you don't help us, we will die of starvation, if not worse when his men decide to use us as sport."

"I want no part of this," Athos replied. "This place can rot for all I care."

"Athos," Aramis uttered in surprise at the callous attitude.

Athos merely turned and strode toward Savron.

D'Artagnan jogged after him. "You can't seriously be considering walking away?" he said incredulously. "These people have no protection without you."

"I renounced my title and any responsibility that went with it."

Athos moved to climb into the saddle but d'Artagnan shot a hand out to stop him.

"You may not be their Comte anymore, but you are a musketeer."

"My duty is to the King," Athos said blandly.

"And to France, which means its people." D'Artagnan's eyes openly pleaded with him. "Athos, you are more honorable than this."

Aramis had rarely seen his brother's expression so cold as he replied,

"You don't know me."

D'Artagnan's eyes crinkled with hurt at that and Aramis stepped in.

" _I_ know you. Whatever demons plague you because of this place, surely the people of Pinon are not to blame."

Athos's eyes flashed with anger. "What do you expect me to do? I am not going to return and take up my title again."

"To start, get this Baron Renard to give up his campaign to take the land," Aramis rejoined.

"The people of Pinon would be better off just accepting him as their new liege lord," Athos countered.

Aramis snorted. "After what we saw of that man? Not likely. This is a fight against injustice, Athos. Would you truly condemn these people to suffering and death? D'Artagnan is right; you are not so dishonorable."

Athos looked away, but his attempt to avoid Aramis's and d'Artagnan's beseeching expressions only turned him toward the ones on the villagers' faces as they watched the musketeers' debate.

Athos turned back. "The Baron has a small army," he pointed out. "And we are just three."

"Yeah," d'Artagnan spoke up, "but, we have dragons on our side. So that's in our favor."

Aramis arched his brows in question and Athos rolled his eyes.

"Fine."

Aramis grinned. "That's the spirit."

.o.0.o.

Athos and d'Artagnan flew Savron back to the house to stock up on weapons while Aramis stayed in the village to survey the terrain and make plans for battle. Athos still wasn't keen on staying to fight at all, but he was outnumbered, and even Savron had given him a pointed look at his initial refusal to get involved.

But this was not his problem. He wouldn't even be here if it weren't for that wretched storm waylaying them.

And yet if not them, then who would fight for these people? D'Artagnan and Aramis were right, no matter how much Athos hated it. Renard was not an honorable man. If someone didn't stop him now, the people of Pinon would continue to suffer.

Porthos and, to Athos's surprise, Remy were loitering on the front steps. That must have been why Aramis and d'Artagnan had come looking for Athos when they did.

Porthos immediately straightened and came forward as Savron landed. "Where's Aramis?" he asked in alarm.

"Still in the village," d'Artagnan replied as he dismounted. "Preparing defenses for when this Baron Renard comes back. We've decided to help defend the villagers."

"Thank you, my lord," Remy said.

"Don't call me that," Athos said coldly. "We are only doing what's right and honorable."

Porthos frowned at him. "You all right?"

"I will be when this is over. The weapons are in the cellar."

He marched into the house, d'Artagnan and Porthos following behind. He had to stop in another room to fish out the key before heading downstairs and unlocking the wrought iron door.

"Every nobleman had to raise a local militia in times of war," he explained. "My father kept a secret armory, and I continued that tradition."

"Nice," Porthos remarked, sweeping his gaze across the racks of swords.

Athos walked over to a crate and picked up an old pistol. "A little battered, but just about serviceable."

"Are you talking about yourself or that pistol?" d'Artagnan asked with a cheeky grin rivaling Aramis's.

Athos shot him a wry smirk in return before sobering. "It was always a good, dry cellar. With any luck, the powder won't have spoiled."

D'Artagnan's gaze drifted over Athos's shoulder then, toward the alcove with the stone crypt.

"The family vault," Athos said. "My ancestors—a dozen generations or so."

He stepped toward the large granite fixture and looked at the name in the most recent placeholder. _Thomas d'Athos_.

"You don' have to tell us what happened if you don' want to," Porthos spoke up. "Jus' know we're here fer you, no matter what it is."

Athos tore his gaze away from the marker that bore the memorial of his brother in order to face the one that wasn't blood, but just as close. Porthos and Aramis had given Athos redemption in a way he hadn't thought possible. And d'Artagnan was quickly on his way to claiming an equally sacred place in his heart.

"Perhaps I will tell you someday," he said. "But right now, we have a fight to get ready for."

They gathered up the powder and guns and found a cart to load them in. Remy said there was pasture land nearby where he could fetch a mule from, so he hurried off to do so. While Athos and d'Artagnan loaded up the cart, Porthos went into the barn and came back out with Vrita.

"What are you doing?" d'Artagnan demanded.

"Like hell I'm gettin' left behind this time," Porthos growled.

"Your arm is still broken."

"I can shoot a pistol jus' fine with my other hand."

D'Artagnan shot a look at Athos for help.

Athos merely gave his friend a neutral once-over. "Aramis won't like it."

Porthos didn't deign to respond to that and turned to his dragon. "Yer not expected to fight," he said in an appeasing tone. "Jus' sit back an' look threatenin'."

Vrita looked displeased but she didn't retreat back into the barn.

Remy returned with the promised mule, though the poor thing grew skittish around the dragons. Still, they managed to hitch it to the cart without it bolting. Porthos climbed onto the cart with d'Artagnan and Remy, and Athos mounted Savron, and then they set off back to Pinon.

Aramis greeted them when they arrived, brows rising sharply at the amount of weapons they brought. "Very nice." He tossed an exasperated look at Porthos and Vrita, though didn't comment on their presence.

Athos hopped off of Savron and took a few steps into the center of the village, his bearing alone enough to draw the attention of the villagers as he prepared to address them.

"It's true," he started, raising his voice to be heard. "I left without a word. And true, I never gave a thought to your fate. But I cannot return and take up my title again. Your lives must be in your own hands now."

"What future do we have without the protection of a lord?" Jeanne interjected. "Our lives are _not_ our own. What choice do we have?"

"You have every choice," Athos replied. "As of this moment, this land is no longer mine. It's yours. I give it to you."

He didn't want it, nor did he care what happened to it. But at least this way the people of Pinon would be left to live their lives in peace, not left in ruin because of Athos's mistakes.

The villagers exchanged uncertain looks at his proclamation.

Athos gestured behind him at the cart of weapons. "We will aid your cause here this day, but now and in the future, you must be the ones to defend your home."

Athos stepped back to let that sink in as murmurs rippled among the villagers.

D'Artagnan leaned in toward him and asked in a low voice, "One question: do any of them know how to shoot?"


	3. Chapter 3

Aramis walked over to Athos after he'd finished that little speech. "I'm impressed," he said.

Athos, of course, didn't acknowledge the comment.

Aramis crossed his arms and watched as the villagers began to come forward and take the weapons d'Artagnan and Porthos were handing out. "You know, perhaps it was Providence that brought us here to help these people."

"You would thank God for injuring Porthos?" Athos retorted with scathing pointedness.

"I thank God he's alive and will recover," Aramis replied, undaunted. "And I pray we make it through this battle too."

"This isn't your fight," Athos pointed out in a lower tone.

Aramis clapped him on the shoulder. "Every fight against injustice is mine. Besides," he grinned, "it's what I was born to do."

Athos rolled his eyes, and Aramis grinned wider at having cracked that stony exterior once more.

But they had a serious task ahead of them and Aramis went off to give the villagers pointers on how to shoot. The results were not encouraging at first, but these people had a reason to fight, and that fueled their fire to learn.

Athos instructed the peasants to erect a barrier at the main entrance of the village from which Renard and his men would come for an attack. Should any think to circle around the back, Vrita would be positioned in the rear to discourage them.

Aramis walked over to where Porthos was directing some villagers in how to place tables and chairs in a sturdy wall.

"I wish you would stay out of this one."

Porthos flicked a peeved glower at him. "As long as you were able to shoot, you wouldn't."

Aramis had nothing to say to that, so he proceeded to load a bunch of pistols to lay out within easy reach so Porthos could keep up a steady stream of shooting from behind the barricade.

The dragons were mostly staying out of the way for now, but Rhaego had hunched down and was eyeing a chicken that had wandered out into the village square.

"Leave it alone," Aramis warned.

Rhaego, however, ignored him and launched forward with a snap of his jaws. A bunch of villagers let out startled screams and scrambled out of the way. Rhaego missed the chicken, which went fluttering away with frightened clucks.

"Rhaego!" Aramis snapped. These people were already starving; they didn't need a dragon picking off the last of their livestock.

The russet dragon hung his head sulkily, smacking his jaw in hunger.

Aramis sighed. "You can go hunting after we've won this battle," he promised.

Rhaego narrowed his eyes, then pushed himself off the ground with a gust of his wings and flew off, most likely to hunt _now_.

Aramis ran a hand down his face, then caught Athos looking at him. "Don't say anything."

"Wasn't going to."

They resumed their preparations, and it wasn't long before they heard the clomp of horses' hooves approaching.

"Take your positions," Athos ordered.

The villagers moved toward the barrier, crouching down to remain behind cover, various pistols and muskets in trembling hands.

Aramis pressed himself against some crates and peered through the slats. Two men, one older and the other young enough to be his son, rode up. The older was waving a white flag, but just as they stopped several yards from the barricade, he turned his head and wiped his nose with it.

Aramis snorted. Charming.

"Since you seem so determined to renounce your God-given nobility," the man said loudly, "sign over your lands to Edmond in perpetuity and I'm willing to spare these poor folk."

"Take the offer or you all die," the younger man shouted, earning an exasperated eye roll from the older one.

"My dear son's words may lack elegance but his sentiment holds true."

Athos climbed up onto the wagon of the barricade. "The land is no longer mine."

Jeanne climbed up beside him, musket in hand. "The land belongs to us now! To all of us!"

"I have given the estate over to its people," Athos clarified.

"So you're trespassing on our land," Jeanne added.

Aramis's lips quirked; he liked her spirit.

Renard gaped at Athos in stupefaction. "You'd hand this rabble your birthright to defy me?"

Athos held his gaze. "I have made my choice."

"So you have, and it is on your own head." Renard turned his horse and began to ride back to his men.

"Prepare yourselves!" Edmond yelled. "Every last one of you is going to die in pain!"

Aramis rolled his eyes at that dolt of a son the Baron had begotten. Centuries of inbreeding and all that.

As the Baron and his son reached the tree line, his men broke from their cover to charge. Savron moved forward and leaned his head over the top of the barrier, spewing out a stream of fire across the ground that created a second, temporary wall of flames. The soldiers screamed and scrabbled backward. Aramis raised his musket and shot through the fire, hitting a man who wasn't retreating quickly enough. He quickly reloaded as the flames gradually died down, but with Savron as sentry, no one was going to be getting through.

Then Renard let out a long, shrill whistle, and an answering screech sounded from the sky.

Aramis whipped his head up as a chartreuse colored dragon came plummeting toward them. He shot a dismayed look at Athos. "He has a dragon?"

Athos's expression was chagrined with equal surprise.

Savron leaped into the air with a flap of his wings and collided with the Baron's dragon mid-flight, the two creatures twisting and turning in a spitting mass of snapping fangs and slashing talons. With the barricade no longer guarded by the fierce beast, Renard's men charged again.

Aramis fired his musket, felling one, then grabbed his pistol to shoot another as the villagers opened fire as well. Several men went sprawling on the ground but many more broke through. Aramis drew his sword and leaped over the barricade to engage them head on. So did d'Artagnan. Pistol fire punctuated the strident screech of steel, as did the startled cries of those who took a musket ball or severe blow.

Aramis slashed his sword across one opponent's stomach and whirled to parry the next attack. He ducked as the dragons careened overhead and crashed into the field, rolling across the ground and clobbering several of the Baron's men in the process. They collided with the trees in a massive crack of splintering wood. Savron ended up underneath the Baron's dragon, but Vrita came swooping in to help, despite her injured flank. Aramis cursed his own dragon's bad timing at leaving them in the lurch.

A blade came arcing toward his neck and he spun to block it, then drew his second pistol and shot the assailant in the leg. A battle cry alerted him to another charging from behind and Aramis pivoted to engage him next.

The Baron's son strode across the field. "Athos!"

Athos climbed over the breaking barrier, sword drawn.

"Come on!" Edmond roared, running forward.

Athos met him in the middle with a clash of steel.

Aramis spun and stabbed, and ended up fighting back-to-back with d'Artagnan. The Baron's men were beginning to thin out. In the corner of the field, Renard's dragon let out an ear-splitting shriek and launched itself into the air to flee. Savron and Vrita didn't give chase.

Aramis and d'Artagnan dispatched the last of the men until it was just Athos and Edmond dueling. With a deft twist, Athos sent the boy's sword flying out of his hand. Edmond tripped and went sprawling on the ground, Athos's sword pointed at his throat.

"Go on, then," Edmond spat. "What are you waiting for?"

"Don't tempt me. Will you surrender and give up this campaign?"

"For land you don't even want?" the boy seethed.

Athos pressed the tip of his blade harder into his neck. "It is that or your life."

Edmond's nostrils flared with the force of his breaths, and he lowered his gaze. Athos withdrew his sword and started to walk away, but Aramis caught sight of Edmond pulling a knife from up his sleeve.

"Athos!" he shouted in warning.

Edmond had leaped up, prepared to stab Athos in the back. Athos whirled, but Savron surged forward faster and snapped his jaws around Edmond's arm. The boy screamed as the dragon lifted him off the ground and flung him across the field. He landed with a sickening crunch against the edge of a tree stump.

"Edmond!" Renard shouted. "No, Edmond!"

The Baron rushed to his son's unmoving body, his heartbroken pleas the only sounds across the field of battle. The victors solemnly turned and walked back to the village.

"Get the wounded inside and tend them," Athos instructed.

Aramis would make the rounds with them, but first he went over to Savron to look him over. The dragon's saddle was gone and he had some clawed gouges down his side that was going to make wearing one impossible until they healed. Now they were all going to be grounded for even longer, Aramis thought ruefully.

Athos came over to check on his dragon, eyes surveying the wounds before he placed a gentle hand on the beast's snout.

"We'll have to return to the house for a while," Aramis told him.

Athos just nodded.

Aramis turned away to go fetch his med kit when he spotted Rhaego circling down to land. The dragon touched down in the village square, looking sated, and roved his gaze around curiously.

"You missed the fight," Aramis upbraided. "We could have used your help, too. So why don't you be useful now and go hunt down some dinner for your den mates, who are now both wounded. We'll meet you back at the barn."

Rhaego snapped his gaze to Savron and Vrita and at least looked a little guilty. Aramis strode past him, feeling the displacement of air as his dragon took off again to finally do as told. The battle may have been over, but there was a lot to mend in the aftermath.

.o.0.o.

The wounded were being tended to, with Aramis helping the more serious injuries. Some of the villagers would have to be buried. But the day was won and Athos hoped they felt it was worth it.

He handed over the signed and sealed letter bequeathing the land to the people of Pinon to Bertrand.

"My lord, are you certain? I'm just a simple innkeeper."

"Call me 'my lord' one more time and I shall burn this letter to ashes," Athos retorted. He held out his signet ring to the man. "This gives you power to act with the authority of the Comte de la Fère. You are Mayor of Pinon now. The judiciary in Rouen will protect you should the Baron make any more trouble. They will not dismiss the seal of the Comte de la Fère."

"The former Comte," Bertrand said with a hesitant smile. He faltered. "I don't know what to say to you."

"Good. Let's keep it that way." Athos turned to walk away. "I shall not be back here again."

His friends were already gathered at the edge of the village, ready to depart. Athos climbed onto the empty cart next to Porthos to drive it back to the house. One of the villagers would retrieve the mule later. The weapons and powder would remain with the villagers to use if they should need it in the future.

Athos felt a heaviness settle on his shoulders as the house came into view. He had spent the last day wanting nothing more than to get as far away from this place as he could, and now they were being forced to stay even longer. But it was unfair to make his friends suffer just to ease his own discomfort. Even the short ride on the cart was jostling Porthos's arm painfully, if the tight grimace on the man's face was anything to go by. Both Savron and Vrita deserved a few days' rest as well.

D'Artagnan had found Savron's saddle out in a nearby field, one of the straps torn. That was a repair that could be made while they were stuck here.

One of a few.

That night as they sat in front of the fire eating fruit picked from the orchard, Athos steeled himself to speak.

"I owe you all an apology."

They paused in their meal, exchanging startled looks. Honestly, that reaction was getting tiring.

"This place holds bad memories," he went on. "Memories I did not want to face."

"You don't owe us an explanation," Aramis interrupted. "We all have our pasts."

Athos nodded. Indeed, there were few things about their lives before the Musketeers that they had shared with each other. It was a boundary they had always respected. Still respected.

But these men were his brothers and perhaps it was time to extend them this courtesy.

"I was the Comte de la Fère. I lived here with my younger brother, Thomas. Until I fell in love and married." He faltered, unused to speaking these words. "My wife…murdered my brother."

The others' expressions slackened in shock.

"And then I discovered she wasn't who she claimed to be. She was a thief and a criminal, and now a murderer. I brought her into our lives and she destroyed them. The day the magistrate took her away to be hanged was the day I left and never came back. Until now."

The others were quiet for a moment, looking as though they were processing the information.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Aramis spoke up. "Both of them."

"She was a murderer."

"But you loved her," Porthos said softly.

Athos swallowed thickly. "Yes."

He still did, in a way. Love and hate, the constant battle waging within his heart at a never-ending stalemate.

"Being here has only reopened those wounds," he confessed.

"Understandable," Porthos remarked.

"It wasn't your fault," Aramis said, gaze fervent.

Athos looked away. He did blame himself though. For bringing Anne into his home. For not seeing that side of Thomas, if it were true…for not stopping it… So many what-ifs that he played in his mind and then drowned in wine because he never found an answer for a different outcome. Not that it could change anything now anyway.

"So," d'Artagnan spoke up after a moment. "The pain…it doesn't get better?"

Athos looked at him, knowing what he was really asking. "The pain is always with me," he replied honestly. "But…" He shifted his gaze to Aramis and Porthos, then back to d'Artagnan. "There are other things that make it more bearable."

People that made it more bearable. Friendships and a brotherhood that had filled the void left by so much loss and grief. Perhaps that was why they three here—now four—had forged such a bond so quickly upon their meeting. They were united in their brokenness and found strength in holding each other up.

In serving and protecting each other along with King and country.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT TIME
> 
> When the Duke of Savoy comes to Paris, old wounds surrounding the massacre of twenty musketeers are reopened. And the truth coming to light might just shatter the lone survivor.


End file.
